Manners
by Deandra
Summary: Morwen is irked by a persistent suitor, who isn’t at all what she has in mind for a husband. Part 68 of the Elfwine Chronicles, but this is a 2 chapter story.
1. Chapter 1

_**Part 68 of the Elfwine Chronicles. The Elfwine Chronicles are a series of one-shots built around the family group of Eomer, Lothiriel and Elfwine. The total number will depend on how many ideas I get for new vignettes.**_

_**A/N: Lady Scribe of Avandell provided the kernel of a story idea that this is based on, from our discussion about what sort of man Morwen would end up with. The idea was given added impetus from Tracey, who reviewed what I had written and raised questions to help me flesh out the details. Thanks to both of you!**_

**Manners**

**(May, 36 IV) **

**Chapter 1**

"I do not think the dainty little lady from Rohan was much taken with your charms, Caranhir!" a low voice commented, with obvious amusement.

Caranhir's eyes flicked to his friend, Phinion, and he shook his head, "You are mistaken! She is slow to warm up to me, it is true, but soon enough I will make her my wife!"

"Wife! Have you gone mad? She could barely tolerate dancing with you. Why on earth would she marry you?" Phinion exclaimed.

Turning his gaze back to the lovely blond Rohirric woman, he answered steadily, "Because I will persuade her I am worthy of her attention. I will convince her she would prefer no other."

His friend laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "Well, I cannot fault your self-confidence! This ought to prove entertaining, at the very least. I do not think the daughter of Rohan's king will be easily persuaded."

"What? She is King Eomer's daughter?"

Phinion nodded, with a smirk. "Did you not know? I just overheard some women talking about it. They are torn between liking her immensely and hating her for her beauty! More than half the men in this room would give their right arm just to kiss her once, and you aspire to marriage? Indeed, you have been out in the sun too long today. She will _never_ consider you! From what I hear, she is prim and proper, and not at all taken with a rough and ready sort like you, nobleman's son or not. You had best set your sights elsewhere."

Phinion swallowed the last of his wine and handed the goblet to his companion, adding, "And now, if you will excuse me, I see several ladies very much in need of a dance partner. I must go and rescue them!"

At about the same time this conversation was taking place, across the room Morwen had reached the side of her cousin, Luthiel. Taking the offered glass of wine, she thirstily drank, then said with annoyance, "Tell me, who on earth is that awful man?" She gestured toward Caranhir, on the other side of the hall.

Following the direction of Morwen's hand and eyes, she asked, "Do you mean the tall, well-built man, standing by the pillar near the wine table? With the dark blue tunic and auburn hair?"

Morwen nodded, and Luthiel gave her a grin, "That is Lord Caranhir. Why? Are you attracted to him?"

Morwen gave one of her rare unladylike snorts, "Attracted! To that hideous man? Certainly not! And how on earth could he possibly be a nobleman? His manners are atrocious! I was never so pleased to have a dance end in my entire life!" She took another swallow of wine to cool her temper.

Luthiel laughed, "Well, manners or not, he is a nobleman, though the past few years he has been serving as a Ranger in Ithilien. That perhaps accounts for him being less polished than one might expect."

"One might _expect_ him to behave even remotely like a gentleman rather than some bumbling, uneducated..." Morwen trailed off, unable to think of a word to adequately describe her low opinion of him. Then she added, "He trod on my feet at least three times! And he held me far too familiarly for our having just met!"

Luthiel hid a smile at her haughty words. Her cousin had always been a bit on the prissy side, though she was likable enough that usually no one paid it much mind, but now and then she managed to get quite worked up about something not in keeping with her prim view of things.

Though Morwen huffed and complained awhile longer, Luthiel turned a deaf ear. She knew Morwen too well to believe this would last very long.

Once Morwen had caught her breath, she was ready to accept the next dance partner and one readily presented himself the moment she looked around with interest. However, with some chagrin, she noted that whenever she caught a glimpse of Lord Caranhir, he always seemed to be watching her with amusement. There was something proprietary in his gaze that suggested she belonged to him and he was 'tolerating' her dancing with other men.

_The insufferable conceit of the man! He was sorely mistaken if he hoped to win her favor; indeed, she would not even be willing to accept another dance with him. If he tried to ask, she would turn him down, even if she had to be rude to do it!_

It was almost a relief when the evening ended, and she no longer had to worry about his approaching her. As the guests began to file out, she was sharing another goblet of wine with Luthiel when, inexplicably, her cousin bid her goodnight and hurried away. She watched Luthiel's retreat with furrowed brow until a low, masculine voice spoke behind her, "My lady Morwen. May I escort you home?"

She stiffened. _It was him! How dare he! And she intended to have harsh words with her cousin on the morrow for abandoning her!_

Turning toward him, her face and body in their most rigidly royal frame, she eyed him coldly, "No, thank you. I will be fine."

He grinned, and suggested, "A walk in the moonlight then?" He reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles before she had the presence of mind to pull it away from him.

"I do not think so. I am tired."

Chuckling with amusement, he caught her hand again and wrapped it around his arm, firmly holding it in place against her efforts to withdraw it. "Then I will escort you home through the moonlight, even though you do not require an escort, but we will take the shortest route so as not to tire you further. However, if you do feel yourself becoming faint, do not be alarmed. I would be happy to carry you the remaining distance."

Her face flaming, Morwen was appalled to discover that her capacity for speech seemed to have entirely fled her. Reluctantly, she silently walked beside him, refusing to look at him and pretending he didn't exist. Her scorn, however, was lost on him. He strolled along with a grin on his face as if she was a willing participant, commenting occasionally on the night and the dance just ended.

Rather to her surprise, he brought her to the door of the Steward's house. _How had he known where she was staying?_ He offered no explanation, and she was unwilling to pursue the conversation necessary to ask him. With a tender smile, that rather startled her, he turned and kissed her hand once more. "Until we meet again, my lady! Sleep well," he murmured in a tone so seductive her heart skipped a beat. And then he was gone.

Her face twisted in a frown of confusion, she went inside. _If she was very lucky, they would _never_ meet again. This man was far too forward in his behavior with her, and she certainly was not attracted to him regardless of what his imagined feelings were for her. No doubt he was just another young man anxious to ally himself with royalty. Through her, he could gain access to the thrones of both Rohan and Gondor, and she didn't intend to help him do so. This soldier would have to seek his fortune elsewhere._

Wearily she trudged off to bed, thankful that the night was over.

xxxxx

If Morwen thought that was the last she would see of Caranhir, she had sorely misjudged the man. When she left the house to go shopping the next day, she found him leaning against a wall, evidently waiting for her. He fell in beside her, despite her not acknowledging his presence, and held a one-sided conversation that was largely a treatise on his view of how lovely the day was for an outing with a beautiful woman.

In exasperation, she skidded to a stop and turned to face him. "Do you have nothing better to do than annoy me?"

He just laughed as though she were jesting with him, and assured her there was nowhere else he needed or wanted to be just then. Pivoting on her heel, she hurried away, but he continued to dog her footsteps. _Where were her overprotective brothers when she needed them!_

At the thought of him being run through by Elfwine, she could not restrain a smile. She wondered if even that would get the message to penetrate his thick skull and make him realize she was not interested. Instead, he grinned at her and commented, "Ah, you are feeling better. I am pleased!"

_Leave it to 'Lord Arrogance' to think her smile was in some way due to him._ "I would feel even better if I were _alone_," she told him pointedly.

But it was lost on him, for he only responded, "A day such as this is not meant to be spent alone, my lady! It is meant for lovers!"

"If I see any, I will mention it to them," she huffed, looking away and then ducking into a dress shop.

She had thought that might dissuade him. Few men that she knew cared to spend time in such places, but he trailed in behind her and insisted on remarking on each dress she looked at, and giving his opinion of how it would look on her. After several minutes of this, even she could not stand to be there any longer and she hurried back outside.

Since it was clear he intended to follow her, no matter what, she headed back home. It would be better to stay indoors and avoid him altogether than to have him stalking her like some hunter after prey. To her surprise, however, before they reached the gate to the sixth level, he stopped her and excused himself, apologetically indicating there was somewhere he needed to be. _Did he truly think she was anything other than delighted to have him gone from her?_

She watched him walk away and was tempted to return to her shopping, but no longer felt the inclination she had earlier. With a sigh, she headed inside. In the foyer, she found her cousin Luthiel, who exclaimed, "There you are! Come, change clothes! There is going to be a competition. Both Eldarion and Father are going to participate in it."

"What sort of competition?" Morwen asked as they made their way to her room.

"Eldarion and several of the Citadel guards will compete against the visiting Rangers of Ithilien in games of skill," Luthiel explained.

Morwen barely restrained a snort of annoyance. She was not terribly fond of such 'games', as Luthiel called them. Soldiers did not interest her, being far too rough and unmannered for her taste. Not to mention that Lord Caranhir was a Ranger. It was likely he would be there, if not competing. She didn't want him thinking she had come to see him, but with Eldarion and Faramir taking part, she felt an obligation to attend.

"Why is Uncle Faramir competing?" she asked curiously. He was not a guard, and his Ranger days were long over.

"The Rangers invited him to join them as an honorary member, since he is the most renowned Ranger Ithilien has ever known. Eldarion is not a guard or Ranger either, but since it was his idea, he also gets to join in."

"What about King Elessar? Will he compete also?"

Luthiel laughed heartily, "Of course not!" When Morwen eyed her questioningly, she explained, "He is so good that none will challenge him. When he wants to spar, he has to do it with Eldarion or Father. No one else will attempt it."

It all seemed a rather silly way to spend the afternoon, but for appearance sake, Morwen capitulated and changed into a dress more suitable to the occasion. It was clear that Luthiel was eager to get going, and hurried her along in her preparations as much as possible, but Morwen firmly believed in not being seen unless every hair was in place, so she took sufficient time to make it so.

At last, they made their way down through the city levels to the gaming area outside the gates. Word apparently had spread through town, and a crowd was already turning out for the match. Vendors had hastily set up stalls from the backs of wagons, and had food and drink for sale in short order. As it was nearly time for the midday meal, they browsed amid the offerings until they found something that appealed to them and made their purchases.

Luthiel led the way to some seats that had been set up for the audience, and there were several wagons placed together, with chairs on them for the royal family and their guests. A servant helped them up some steps into the wagon and they settled in the front row.

In spite of her distaste for such things, Morwen could not help being affected by the festive atmosphere. At least it was better than sitting indoors all day to avoid Caranhir. Luthiel was explaining the match to her, and telling her about the various members of the Citadel guard she knew. The Rangers were reputed to be very good with longbows, but the guards likely had the advantage with swords. Eldarion was quite good with both, so he might tip the scales in favor of the guards.

Servants were beginning to erect a canopy over their seats, for which Morwen was grateful. The sun was starting to get quite warm as the day progressed and she did not wish to burn. While Luthiel was in conversation with a courtier sitting behind them, she let her eyes wander the field, coming to rest on the area where men were warming up.

She readily spotted Eldarion; he could make a spectacle of himself anywhere. It took a few moments to locate Uncle Faramir. He had his bow out and was taking practice shots at a target while several men observed. From where she was sitting, he seemed to be doing quite well, but since she wasn't entirely clear on the object, she couldn't be certain.

A glimpse of vibrant reddish-brown hair caught her attention, and she realized the man presently speaking with Faramir was Caranhir. Almost as if he knew she was looking, he turned in her direction and flashed a grin at her. Hastily, she turned her head and pretended not to notice. _Did he have to spoil everything?_

Moments later, the tournament began. The sword fighting was the first event, and pairs of men enthusiastically did battle until one or the other was declared victor. Eldarion easily progressed through three opponents to face the other semi-finalist, who he seemed to handily defeat. While Morwen was pleased for him, she could not quite shake a feeling of boredom. _Why did men have to behave in such a crude manner anyway? The War was long ended, and even though there was still occasionally reason to defend their countries, these games seemed rather pointless to her. Leave the fighting for when it was needed._

Once the sword matches were done, with the victor receiving a kiss from each of the ladies in the royal box, as pledged by Queen Arwen, they moved on to the longbow event. Morwen found this a bit more interesting as it didn't seem nearly so barbaric as swordfighting. At least it could be used for something worthwhile, like securing food.

Luthiel had been right about the prowess of the Rangers, and the Citadel guards were fairly quickly eliminated. Only Eldarion and one other man stayed in the running. Faramir did well for several rounds, finally coming up short as the targets were moved farther away, but even so he was given a rousing cheer of approval by the Rangers, and the guards and audience joined in. Faramir colored in embarrassment, but graciously acknowledged their accolade as he stepped aside for the next round of archers.

With some indifference, Morwen noticed that Caranhir was still in the competition. Apparently he was quite good. She hoped Eldarion would defeat him soundly – that ought to dent his conceit a bit. The targets kept being moved back as fewer and fewer made the mark. To Morwen they seemed impossibly distant from the archers. Even with her limited appreciation for this sport, she could not quite remain unimpressed with the skill it must require to hit something so far away.

And then it was over. To her very great annoyance, Eldarion had come up short in the semi-final round, and her last hope for Caranhir's downfall was dashed when his opponent finally missed, giving him the victory. _That ought to make him even more insufferable than he usually was!_

He began making his way in her direction, and she rolled her eyes that he seemed intent on coming to try and impress her with his win. Suddenly it occurred to her that the offer of a kiss to the victor had been meant for _both_ victors. She was actually going to have to kiss this man's cheek. As revolting a thought as that was, she could think of no way to politely escape, though she did indulge in a few unpleasant thoughts about the Queen for putting her in this unenviable position.

While he was receiving kisses farther down the line, she forced her features into a look of cold detachment. She might be required to do this, but she had no intention of letting him think she was enjoying it.

And then he was before her, his smugness making her want to slap him. Averting her eyes to look over his shoulder, rather than directly at him, she bent to place the most chaste kiss imaginable on his cheek, but at the very last second before her lips touched him, he turned his head and she found herself kissing the corner of his mouth. She drew back in horror as those nearby chuckled with amusement. So low she wasn't sure anyone heard but her, he murmured, "That was definitely the one worth winning for!" And then he stepped to the next lady as though nothing unusual had happened.

Morwen's face was red, from equal parts embarrassment and anger. Her duty fulfilled, she hastily exited the wagon and stormed back up toward the city. She didn't stop her charge until she reached her room, winded and red in the face from the exertion, but at last in solitude.

_How dare he! Treating her like...like...a barmaid! Did he think she freely handed out kisses to just anyone?_ In her twenty-two years, she had only kissed two men, and both of those had been polite, chaste and proper. And she had at least _liked_ them! _How dare he steal a kiss when she had made it clear that she wanted nothing to do with him!_

She fell back onto her bed with a groan. _Would he never leave her alone? Just because he was good-looking and got along with virtually everyone didn't mean she was attracted to him. Did he think she would enjoy kissing his chapped lips? It was obvious he had been out in the sun too much and it had taken a toll. He really should use a balm of some kind to prevent damage... And why was she even worrying about that? It was his problem. She didn't care if the sun burned his lips right off his face!_

Covering her face with a pillow, she tried to turn her thoughts to anything other than that irksome man. By suppertime, she had recovered her composure, and even managed to ignore her family members' attempts at teasing her about her memorable afternoon. The only bright spot of the evening came when Faramir mentioned that the Rangers would be leaving in the morning to return to their duties. At last she would be rid of that oaf, once and for all.

xxxxx

Phinion and Caranhir stood outside the pay tent, wages in hand and ready for their leave. After the Ring War, peace had been established with Harad, but there remained pockets of dissidents in that land even some thirty-five years later. The Ithilien Rangers essentially served as border guards, being on the lookout for any signs of trouble and safeguarding the settlements that stretched sporadically from Emyn Arnen to Dol Amroth.

Being a member of the Rangers was a long-term commitment, and men signed on knowing they would be away from home for considerable periods of time. Most did not marry until they were ready to leave the Rangers, since it was unfair to a wife to have her husband gone most of the year. They got occasional breaks whenever they were patrolling near the cities of Dol Amroth or Minas Tirith. A few men were allowed to attend dances or feasts that might be taking place, and have some time to relax before rejoining their companions. Because of the schedule they kept, however, each year they were given two months off to visit their families, rest and do whatever they chose with their time. It was believed to help refresh them and keep them sharp the remainder of the year.

Phinion and Caranhir had joined the Rangers about the same time, and consequently their two month leave occurred simultaneously. At twenty-four, Phinion was two years younger than his friend, and hailed from Emyn Arnen. His parents had helped settle that town after the War, and he had grown up roaming the Ithilien forests, growing to love them passionately. He had not met Caranhir until they both joined the Rangers, but they had hit it off immediately and had soon become the best of friends.

Caranhir was the third son of a nobleman from Linhir, in southern Lebennin. Too far removed from being his father's primary heir, he had sought an occupation. Somewhat to his family's chagrin, his choice had been to join the Rangers. He had always enjoyed the outdoors, spending hours wandering the forests around the town. Despite all efforts to train him to follow more gentlemanly pursuits, he persisted in his enthusiasm for the military, and at length his father had given up arguing with him about it.

It was somewhat ironic that his father had helped defend the town's ford over the river from the corsairs and the Haradrim during the Ring War, but now objected to his own son seeking such an occupation. Caranhir suspected his father's opposition to his profession would have been stronger had he not fought himself, but he had done so out of extreme need rather than any enthusiasm for such things. He did not entirely understand his son's preoccupation with woodsmanship and fighting.

Because of their opposing views on the matter, and his presence was sometimes a bit embarrassing for his family who wished to appear more genteel, he kept his visits home brief. He had used previous leaves from the Rangers for travel, or gone home with friends to meet their families. He knew someday he would seek a wife and family of his own, and thought perhaps he would likely settle in Linhir without giving the matter much consideration, but until that day arrived, he intended to enjoy his freedom.

Circumstances being what they were with his family, Caranhir had already determined how this leave would be spent. There was a lovely lady in Rohan he needed to persuade to marry him. When he confided his intentions to Phinion, his friend shook his head in disbelief. "You do not give up, do you? I tell you, the girl will never agree to marry you. There is nothing about you that appeals to her. She wants one of those prissy, puffed up men of the court, who is round and soft by the time he is thirty, from too much food and not enough exercise. She would never tolerate a wild man like you who finds his greatest enjoyment crashing around in the bushes!"

Caranhir just gave him a cocky grin in response, "Say what you want, but I _will_ marry her."

"You are blinded by her beauty! Use some sense! Why on earth would you want a prim and proper woman like that? She will nag you into an early grave! She will try to change everything about you until you cannot recognize yourself! Give it up!"

Caranhir shook his head, "You see only the surface, my friend, the facade. There is more to her than that, though she does not yet realize it. Had I not already believed it, I would have known it when you told me she was King Eomer's daughter. He is a strong and plain-spoken man. I cannot believe any of his children could be so vacuous as you deem her to be. She will not change me so much as I will soften her. I will show her her true beauty, her heart. She is capable of great and good things, but she needs someone like me to bring that out in her. You mark my words – a few years after we marry, you will have a very different opinion of her."

So Phinion gave up. If Caranhir was determined to make this bed for himself; he would have to lie in it when he did. His friend tried to persuade him to come to Rohan with him, in pursuit of the lady, but Phinion declined. He would rather visit his family than go on this wild goose chase. If Caranhir wanted to waste his free time in this manner, that was fine, but Phinion did not intend to do likewise, so the next morning they said their farewells, and parted company at Emyn Arnen.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_FYI: Caranhir means 'red lord'; Phinion means 'skilled son'; This takes place in 36 IV: Eomer is 65, Lothiriel 57, Elfwine 35 (kids: Arawine 13, #2 8, #3 ?), Theodwyn 28, Theomund 26, Morwen 22, Theodred 13._

_**End note: It is not essential that you read the Elfwine Chronicles in the order they were written, but there is an advantage to doing so. The more of them that I wrote, the more likely I was to make reference to one of the previous ones and something that happened there. If you want to read them in order, go to the top of this page and click on my name (Deandra). That will take you to my profile page. Scroll down and you will find all the stories I have written. The Elfwine Chronicles are in order from bottom to top since ffn shows them in the order they were posted. A few were posted out of number order (#15 came after #17, I think), but you can read them in posting order or number order since those few won't be affected in the story content.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Everyone keeps wondering who Eldarion is going to end up with, considering I keep narrowing the choices! Well, you'll have to wait a bit longer! I am working on that story, but I don't know how long it will take to flesh it out. Let the suspense build for awhile, eh?**_

**Chapter 2**

Morwen had been home from Minas Tirith for three days. Though she could have done without the tedious journey between cities, she had thoroughly enjoyed visiting Gondor. _Well, except for that awful man._

By Gondorian standards, Edoras was still a bit on the provincial side, and she loved the glamour and excitement afforded by a place such as Minas Tirith. There were more interesting shops, more things to do and she always enjoyed spending time with her relatives in that part of Middle Earth.

Perhaps one day she would move there, even marry a man from Gondor. With one _notable_ exception, the men she had met there were far more sophisticated and appealing than those of the nobility in Edoras. True, she would not like being so far away from her family, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made. She was certain she would marry well, and they would be able to visit home often if her husband was from Gondor.

Rising, she meandered toward her parents' chamber. She found her mother putting away clean clothes, and she sprawled on her stomach across their bed as she watched silently for a moment.

After several moments of observation, she announced, "I want my marriage to be like yours."

Her mother turned to eye her questioningly, "What, in particular, do you mean?"

"Oh, everything. I want us to laugh and tease each other like you and Papa do. I never want us to stop holding hands and kissing and being romantic. I want us never to argue or disagree. That sort of thing."

Lothiriel placed the last few shirts in a drawer, and then stepped over to sit down beside her daughter. "Those things do not just happen by themselves. Do you know why our marriage is like that?"

Morwen rolled over on her back to gaze thoughtfully at her mother, finally answering, "No, I suppose I do not."

"We hold hands and kiss and are still romantic because we love each other, today just as much as when we were married. And we make a point of letting the other person know that we still feel that. We laugh and tease each other because we trust the other person not to do it mean-spiritedly, and we are certain of their love for us. We learned how to laugh and tease together before we ever married and it has simply continued on."

"All of the things you have mentioned as admiring do not come by chance. We choose for them to be that way, and put our effort into making them so. Our only thought is for the other person's happiness, and we are willing to sacrifice to accomplish it. We choose not to be selfish, whenever possible. If you would have a similar marriage, you and your husband would have to make that same commitment to each other. What you see does not come without a cost," Lothiriel told her.

Lothiriel paused at that point and considered the final point her daughter had made. At length, she added, "We do argue and disagree, but not often. And it does not last long because we do not wish it to. We look to compromise, we make an effort to work things out in a manner we both can live with. We agree on so much because we choose to agree. We choose to end arguments by giving in. We believe it is more important to give in than to insist on being right."

She paused a moment, then added softly, "Your father is a man used to coming out the victor in any conflict, and one would expect him to be the same in arguments. Perhaps he is in politics, but it is humbling to me to know that he loves me so much, he would rather yield to my wishes than make me unhappy. He would rather lose the argument than lose me. And because he loves me that much, I dare not trample on his feelings and treat them callously. Even when I win the argument, I try to make him feel as though he shares in my victory, for I have no desire to best him. I would sacrifice all things to keep him at my side, even my own happiness, because he is what gives me my greatest happiness. That would be lost if he was lost to me, and I could never recover from it."

Morwen considered what her mother had said, then commented, "You make it look so easy, yet it sounds so difficult."

Lothiriel rose and leaned over to press a kiss to her daughter's brow, "Not if you let your heart choose your actions, instead of your pride."

As Lothiriel exited the room, Morwen contemplated her words. _Surely there was another man such as her father, with whom she could have a similar marriage._ Unbidden, the image of Caranhir came to mind and she gave a smirk. _She doubted very much _he_ would ever be that kind of husband! He would likely be domineering and bossy, always insisting everything was done _his_ way! Yet _another_ reason to reject him!_

She gave a frustrated moan; _why was she even thinking about that terrible troll? She was free of him now, and would never see him again. She didn't care _who_ he married, so long as it wasn't her!_ Rising with determination, she forced him from her thoughts and returned to her own room to finish a tunic she had been working on.

No matter what, it was good to be home.

xxxxx

The next evening, Morwen was pleased to be able to spend time with two of Elfwine's children. It was good to see them again after being away for over a month. She loved children, and her nieces and nephews were especially dear to her.

All eyes turned to take notice when Gamling put in appearance with a message delivered quietly to Eomer.

Eomer raised an eyebrow at the information Gamling relayed to him and said, "By all means, show him in."

The family was gathered in Eomer's study, relaxing together after supper. It had been awhile since all of his children had been together, with the exception of Theodwyn. His sons and Arawine were sprawled over chairs, catching up on each other's activities of late, while the women were playing with the children.

A short knock announced Gamling's return, and a moment later he entered with another man. Morwen could not restrain a tiny gasp of amazement. _It was Caranhir! What on earth was he doing here?_

Eomer moved forward to greet him as the others all watched with interest. "I am Eomer King. Who might you be?"

"My lord! I am Caranhir of Lebennin. I thank you for receiving me." He snuck a peek at Morwen, who was flushed red and refusing to look in his direction.

"Indeed," Eomer responded mildly, "and what brings you to our door this day?"

"To be perfectly honest, my lord, I made the acquaintance of your lovely daughter, Morwen, not too long ago when she was visiting Gondor. I come now so that we might become better acquainted – in hopes I might find favor with her, and her family."

Eomer's eyebrow arched at this very straightforward declaration, and he glanced toward Morwen, who did not seem all that pleased by this turn of events. Still, there was no need for concern just yet. He knew many young men admired his daughter, and he expected he would be faced with numerous suitors in the not-too-distant future.

Offering an enigmatic smile, Eomer suggested, "Perhaps we should begin by introducing you to the rest of the family." With a wave of his hand, he gestured to Lothiriel, "My wife, Queen Lothiriel."

After Caranhir had acknowledged her, Eomer, eyes twinkling, proceeded to the four other males in the room, "And these are my sons, Elfwine, heir of the Riddermark, Theomund and Theodred – Morwen's brothers – and Arawine, Morwen's nephew."

As if on cue, the four rose from their chairs simultaneously, and only when they had did Caranhir notice that he was standing in their midst, surrounded on all sides. He was a large, solid man, but Morwen's brothers and nephew were daunting all the same, especially in a group. Caranhir didn't miss the veiled message; Morwen's unhappiness would mean their displeasure with whomever caused it.

Flashing a jauntier grin than he felt, he nodded to the four, "An honor, gentlemen. I look forward to getting to know you."

A small smirk played at Eomer's mouth as he continued with introductions to Dariel and the children.

Caranhir's genial attitude soon had him ensconced in easy conversation with the men in the room, and Lothiriel observed the proceedings with interest. It was clear that Morwen was unhappy with this man's presence, and she pointedly ignored him. Dariel caught Lothiriel's eye and gave her a knowing smile. Obviously, they needed to speak in private – Dariel knew something about this.

It was evident that the men were getting along famously, and Caranhir seemed to have won their approval in short order. Though he had said Morwen was the reason for his visit, he paid her no mind, and spent the rest of the evening talking with her family.

Upon learning that Caranhir served as a Ranger in Ithilien, patrolling the Harad border, the family understood Morwen's apparent distaste for him. She was not inclined toward soldiers of any kind, not even entirely approving of the military activities of her father and brother. She was a true lady of the court, and had demonstrated a decided propensity for genteel noblemen. Consequently, she was extremely popular among the sons of the upper class of Edoras. As yet, she had developed no keen interest in any man in particular, but they were earnest in their efforts to attract her attention. She was prim and proper, and the idea that she would ever consider this rough Ranger was almost laughable. But clearly he was determined, and did not lack for confidence. It would be interesting to see how well he fared against her fixed notions of acceptability.

xxxxx

It wasn't until the next day that Lothiriel had an opportunity to seek out Dariel. When she did, Dariel handed her a letter to read. Opening it, Lothiriel discovered it was from Luthiel, and her daughter-in-law explained, "Luthiel sent it to me with Morwen when she returned home. She thought I might be interested in knowing what had taken place on this visit."

Quickly reading through the contents, Lothiriel raised an eyebrow in amusement. When she got to the part about the victory kiss at the tournament, she could not hold back a laugh, and Dariel chuckled as well, guessing what part she was reading.

After the queen had folded the letter and returned it, Dariel observed, "He seems quite determined to catch her eye, though I am not at all certain his efforts are not doomed to failure."

Lothiriel sat pensively a moment, then replied, "I am not so sure of that. Yesterday, out of the blue, Morwen started talking about the sort of marriage she wanted to have one day. At the time, I did not think much about her sudden interest in the topic, but now I am inclined to think there is more going on in her thoughts than she has yet revealed, or perhaps even realizes."

"Well, he is here now. It will be interesting to see how he fares. It is clear that the family likes him. Indeed, he is quite agreeable, and she could do much worse."

"Even so, that will not entirely excuse him from being a soldier!" Lothiriel said, laughing. "She is rather adamant on that point. He has his work cut out for him. Still, as you say, it is best not to have the male family members suspicious of you!"

The two women chuckled together before turning their conversation to other matters.

xxxxx

Over the next few days, Caranhir divided his time between pursuing Morwen relentlessly and befriending her family. It had quickly become apparent to Morwen that he was not going to be easily dismissed, and it seemed as if he turned up every time she stepped foot outside of Meduseld. He followed her about town, speaking flattering words of admiration and making every attempt to garner her favor, but she maintained a cold and aloof demeanor whenever he was around.

Finally exasperated with his persistence, Morwen turned on him one day.

"Go away!" Morwen exclaimed in annoyance. "Quit following me, quit speaking to me, leave me completely alone!"

Caranhir grinned in amusement, "My lady! You wound me! Why would you wish me gone? What is there not to like about me?"

Morwen made an uncharacteristic growling sound in the back of her throat, "There are trolls who are more appealing than you! And they have better manners! Why is it so difficult for you to grasp that I DO NOT LIKE YOU!"

With a chuckle, Caranhir leaned toward her and said softly, "You just need to get to know me better! Then you will warm up to me, I am certain!"

Throwing up her hands in frustration, Morwen turned on her heel and stalked away from him, which would have been far more impressive if he had not merely fallen into step a short distance behind her.

After that, Morwen resorted to moving around town with one or more friends, to act as a shield against him. Her friends, who had much the same views as she did on such things, treated him with equal disdain, but he was steadfastly oblivious to their slights.

His relationship with her family, however, was going quite well. He had shown a great interest in Theomund's metalwork business, and had visited the shop to see his wares.

Elfwine had invited him to spar with him, and the two had gone at it enthusiastically. Caranhir had commented, only moments into the workout, "I confess, Elfwine, this is quite an unexpected challenge."

Elfwine eyed him questioningly, and he explained, "It is different fighting a man who is left-handed. His movements differ and his tactics are not quite so predictable. It is good to have this practice with you and keep my skills sharpened."

Whatever Elfwine had expected him to say, he was impressed with the man's ready acceptance of his disability. Not everyone was able to get past it and treat him as an equal. Caranhir seemed truly focused on the exercise rather than any limitations of his opponent.

Both Theodred and Arawine had quickly pressed him to teach them some of his Ranger skills, and Caranhir had readily assented, showing no disinclination to devote considerable amounts of his time to the two young men.

While Caranhir had not presumed to seek lodging with the family, to Morwen's abundant annoyance, her family persisted in inviting him to share meals with them. After several days of this, she took to spending more time dining with her friends, whenever possible, in order to avoid him at such gatherings. Still, she did not want to stay away entirely, not completely trusting him alone with them, and preferring to know exactly what he was up to when he was with them. To her great chagrin, he had effortlessly ingratiated himself to her family.

Unbeknownst to Morwen, her family had largely reached the conclusion that Caranhir was a very good thing in her life. As a child, she had been excruciatingly shy, and it had taken long years of their care and concern to help her be able to function in social situations. Unfortunately, the side effect of that shyness was her very rigid focus on protocol. Something about doing things in a very proscribed manner gave her comfort, and made it easier for her to act without freezing up. She could be relaxed when alone with her family, but in public she was a reserved, proper little ice maiden.

The family hoped that Caranhir's unbridled ebullience would help Morwen be more comfortable and informal. It was clear, however, that she intended to resist his every attempt to woo her. She turned a cold shoulder to conversation, she refused to look directly at him, often pretending to be unaware of his very existence, and she adamantly would not tolerate his advances. It was soon evident this battle of wills would go to whoever endured the longest.

And it was not only her family who showed great approbation for the man. Gamling and Eothain both seemed approving of him, and it was not but a few days after his arrival before he was being greeted in the street by townspeople he had befriended. _Why was she the only one who could see how hideous he truly was? Were they all willfully blind? True, he was agreeable enough, but that alone should not have been sufficient to endear him to so many. Was he telling them lies in order to win their regard? Whatever it was, it was most frustrating. Were it not for her friends, she would likely have gone mad by now._

xxxxx

Caranhir had been at Edoras for nearly a fortnight when Morwen felt pushed to her limit. The conversation over dinner, which thankfully Caranhir had not been invited to for a change, still seemed to revolve around him and the high esteem in which her family all held him. They seemed heedless of her feelings and opinion of the man.

Morwen angrily threw down her napkin as she rose from the table, exclaiming, "I am beginning to think my family cares more for Lord Caranhir than they do for me!" With that she stormed from the room as all eyes watched her departure.

For a moment, there was silence, and then they eyed one another questioningly. Finally, Elfwine opted to speak first, observing, "Caranhir is a good man, and I believe he could be very good for Morwen. She has always been too wrapped up in the protocols of nobility, and it has made her stiff and tedious. Perhaps he could help soften her, so others may see the warm, loving woman that we know her to be. She does not even see that she has shown more fire and passion in her rejection of him than she has ever shown before in her life. I do not think she is so immune to him as she would have us believe. I think she merely does not like to lose control of the situation, and that is what has happened. He completely befuddles her and she does not know what to do about it. He does not follow her rigid rules of decorum."

"Even so," Lothiriel said quietly, "she is your sister, and she needs to know her family loves her. Do not let your perception of what you think she 'needs' blind you to that. He may be good for her, but it will not be easy for her to come to that realization."

Theomund shifted anxiously, then offered, "I think perhaps it is time I suggest to Caranhir that he change his tactics. He has her attention; now she needs to see what it feels like to lose _his_ attention. I do not think she will relish his departure so much as she claims."

No one at the table was in disagreement, but Eomer cautioned his son, "Tread lightly, Theomund. We do not want to see her hurt." He knew the warning was unnecessary – Theomund was more sensitive to others' feelings than anyone – but he thought it best to be made plain.

After dinner, Theomund made good on his decision, seeking out Caranhir for a talk.

"You want me to give up on her?" Caranhir asked dubiously.

"No," Theomund assured him, "not give up. Just turn your attentions elsewhere for awhile, and give her time to miss you. We think she cares for you, but will not allow herself to acknowledge it. Make her jealous with your interest in other women. Make her long for your presence, your words, your time, when they are suddenly no longer available to her. Make her want what she no longer thinks she has."

Caranhir considered this proposal, then shook his head uncertainly, "I do not know if I could play that game with her, Theomund. I truly do love her and I do not wish to be with anyone else."

"I know that," Theomund reassured him, "but my sister can be quite stubborn. She is convinced you are not the man she wants, that you do not appeal to her. When she sees that you _do_ appeal to other women, and she is not having to fend off your advances, I believe she will come to realize that she very much loves and wants you."

"And what if she does not? Where does that leave me?" Caranhir pointed out.

"That leaves you knowing the truth. If she does not care that you are no longer interested in her, then you truly have no chance with her anyway. But if I am right about her feelings, then she should come to see that her heart looks upon you differently than does her mind. Unless she comes to understand that, you are wasting your time pursuing her."

"And your family knows about this? I will not be garroted by your brothers and father for my inconstancy?"

Theomund grinned, "Of course not!" Then pausing for effect, he added teasingly, "We are men of the sword!"

Caranhir glared at him, "Thank you for that _questionable_ reassurance!" He sighed heavily. He was a straightforward man and did not like such games, but he could not deny that Morwen had proven extremely resistant to his efforts at charming her. Theomund's point was valid in that sense – at least he would know one way or the other if he could ever hope to win her affections.

xxxxx

It had been decided that the place to put this new plan into action was the feast given three days later. Even if Morwen was not interested in this man from the south, many other ladies were. His rugged good looks and unusual mahogany-colored hair cast quite an appealing image to the feminine eye, and they eagerly accepted his solicitations for a dance. Though not the best dancer, the ladies seemed uncaring of his clumsy feet and were far more interested in finding themselves in his arms during the course of the dance. They made it very clear to him they would welcome any repeat offers he might make toward them.

Further, though unfamiliar with most of the Rohirric dances, Caranhir was an enthusiastic pupil, and the ladies delighted in being his teacher. His missteps proved an excellent excuse for them to fall into his arms or clutch him tightly, even once he had improved and made fewer errors.

It had not taken long for Morwen to notice the shift in Caranhir's attentions. Initially, she was both surprised and relieved by it. _Perhaps the man had finally comprehended her lack of regard._ As the evening wore on, however, she began to be annoyed by his flagrant flirting with every woman in the room. _He was so appallingly transparent! How could they not see how rough and unappealing he was? _Many of the women were quite shameless in their efforts to catch his notice, and earn a place as his partner on the dance floor._ It was truly rather nauseating to witness!_

Even though the young men of the nobility seemed to share her distaste for this crude character, it did nothing to appease her irritation. Many a gentleman was more than willing to distract her with dancing, but she found she could not focus on the dance or her partner for any length of time. _Must the man make such a spectacle of himself?_

While everyone else seemed to enjoy the evening, Morwen found it ended on a sour note for her. Even when he was not chasing rabidly after her, he could manage to spoil a pleasant gathering. _He was just so insufferable!_

By the next day, it was clear that the wind had changed. No longer did Caranhir trail behind her in the street, declaring his endless devotion to her, or insisting on carrying her packages and spending time with her. Instead, everywhere she went she seemed to find him with a different woman on his arm. _It almost looked as if he was determined to woo every woman in the entire town!_

As it was the season for gatherings and dances, Morwen found herself facing continual repeats of that first evening. Women scandalously sought his favor, hanging on his every word and flattering him at every turn. And he appeared to thoroughly enjoy their attentions! _So much for his_ professed_ everlasting affection for her! _In retaliation, she made it a point to dance most every dance with a wide array of gentlemen, so as to make it clear that she did not miss his attentions to her in the slightest.

Over the next week her irritation increased with every glimpse she got of him. _Why could he not just go back to Gondor and leave them all in peace? Then she would not have to observe this horrid man's intrigues!_ _Everything about him grated on her nerves._

But if he knew of her annoyance, he gave no indication. Day after day, she was forced to endure his presence almost everywhere she went. To make matters worse, he was still friendly with her brothers and continued to be frequently present at meals. Only now the conversation often turned to whichever lady currently had his eye, and the royal family happily gave him further background on each one.

xxxxx

_Two fortnights. It had been two fortnights already that Caranhir had been in Edoras. Would he never go home? Did he not have to return to the Ithilien Rangers?_ There was no evidence he intended to depart any time soon.

With his romantic escapades confronting her all over town, it was with some shock that she happened upon him one day without a companion. He had barely spoken to her of late, but today he made an exception, "Lady Morwen, it is good to see you. You look well."

He gave her a nod of his head, and despite her vexation with him, she could not stifle her natural tendency to politely acknowledge him, "Lord Caranhir. Thank you. I am well." Her response was stiff and cold, and she saw his eyes narrow at her tone.

Quietly he observed, "You seem out of sorts with me, my lady. Have I done something to displease you? I thought you would be appreciative of my giving in to your demands that I leave you alone."

She did not mean to say it, but it was out before she could stop herself. "Your _undying_ love was shortlived, my lord!" Morwen claimed petulantly. Despite her effort to conceal it, there was no mistaking the note of hurt in her voice.

Caranhir regarded her curiously, giving a slow, sad smile as he asked quietly, "Was it wrong of me to look elsewhere when you would not have me?"

Morwen's breath caught in her throat. _Of course he was right, and it was unfair of her to have expected him to pursue her forever without any encouragement. _ Even so, she could not suppress a pang of...disappointment? Softly, she replied with shame, "No, my lord. It was not wrong of you." She could not meet his eyes as she admitted the truth – _she had driven him away, and she had no right to resent the loss of his affections._

To her surprise, his hand came up and the back of his fingers brushed against her cheek. "I could be persuaded to pursue no other but you," he murmured, his voice low and intimate. "I have looked elsewhere, and find no one appeals to me as you do."

Morwen gave a small gasp at his words, and her eyes rose to gaze into his in surprise. _Could it be possible he still cared?_ As if in answer, he leaned in and his lips lightly touched hers. The contact was too brief and she hungered for more. Involuntarily, she moved toward him before he could pull back, and pressed her lips firmly to his. It was sufficient inducement, as his arms encircled her and drew her close.

Part of her mind told her to move away from his familiarity, but instead her hands moved on their own to his arms, and then slid slowly toward his broad shoulders. _This should be wrong_, she knew. _He was arrogant and irksome, and far too rough mannered for her taste. He was not the sort of man she had always anticipated admiring and marrying, and yet her heart was blatantly ignoring the reason of her mind. She wanted this man. She wanted him with an intensity that was almost frightening._

Moments later, they broke apart, breathing heavily, and Morwen tried to steady her reeling senses. _ This could not be! He was nothing like the man she had always dreamed of marrying. She wanted a genteel man, a man of sense and reason._ Yet these steely arms around her felt so very right, and the hunger and longing in his kiss had been overwhelmingly compelling. Unable to stop herself, she pressed her lips to his again and drank deeply, trying to quench some thirst she did not understand.

It was Caranhir who aborted the kiss this time, pulling away from her slightly and resting his forehead on hers. "Much as I am enjoying this, my sweet, I believe we must catch our breath. We are, after all, in the middle of the street in broad daylight. I do not wish anyone to speak ill of your behavior." His eyes flashed with unconcealed humor, and tenderness.

Morwen flushed red as her senses recovered, and she became aware of her surroundings once more. A peek from the corner of her eye told her their display of affection was not going unnoticed, as passersby grinned while they ogled the entertainment. Pulling hastily away from him and straightening her dress unnecessarily, she kept her eyes on the ground so she would not see the looks they were getting, or his eyes. "I…I must go," she stammered, turning to rush off.

Before she could escape, his hand snaked out and caught her wrist, as he gave her a mischievous grin, "Let me come also, beloved. Perhaps now you will allow me to speak to your father?"

She looked up at him, startled. _Speak to her father? Now? But they had only just... _ She fell silent, flustered, and tried to clear her thoughts.

Linking her hand around the crook of his arm, Caranhir guided her up the road toward Meduseld. He kept quiet, allowing her time to steady herself. Just as they entered the main doors, she seemed to recover and pulled free of him. Staring at him in confusion, she tried to think of an argument against all of this. Everything was happening much too fast.

Now in the shadow of the hall, Caranhir could not resist capturing first her waist and then her lips once more, and again Morwen's thoughts fled in disarray. Succumbing to the pleasure of the embrace, she wound her fingers into his hair and drew him closer.

A loud voice suddenly followed a cleared throat, "I do hope you have come to ask for my daughter's hand in marriage, Caranhir. Otherwise, I must ask you to remember yourself!"

Morwen stumbled back, gasping, "Father! I...we..." She frantically sought an explanation for her untoward behavior, missing the amusement in her father's eyes.

Caranhir was more composed, "I have, my lord! But I apologize if I have taken too much liberty in expressing my affections to Morwen."

Eomer chuckled, "Come with me, both of you. I think it is time we had a talk." He turned and led the way to his study, and Caranhir wrapped an arm around Morwen's shoulders, urging her along in her father's wake.

Morwen felt as though she was somehow trapped in a dream, and was watching all this play out from a great distance. But she found she was not displeased with the events taking place. Like it or not, intended or not, Caranhir had stolen her heart despite her best efforts to prevent it. She had the unsettling feeling her life was never again going to be so smooth and tidy as she had planned. He would never be a placid, genteel husband. He would never bow and scrape, or settle for a dull and quiet life. He lived life with vigor and enthusiasm, and she was being sucked into the whirlpool he created.

Surreptitiously eyeing him, however, she could not find a reason to object. She wanted him, she wanted to be his wife, and she wanted to bear his children. Surely that was worth any inconvenience of his unruly manners. Surely that was worth bending her pride and rigid sense of protocol. After all, manners were highly overrated sometimes...

THE END

3/7/06 – 3/15/06

_FYI: Caranhir means 'red lord'; Phinion means 'skilled son'; This takes place in 36 IV: Eomer is 65, Lothiriel 57, Elfwine 35 (kids: Arawine 13, #2 8, #3 ?), Theodwyn 28, Theomund 26, Morwen 22, Theodred 13._

_**A/N2: I got to thinking about this the other night – can you just imagine Caranhir taking Morwen home to meet his family? His family considers him sort of a backwoods embarrassment, and he walks in saying, "Hi Mom & Dad! Meet Morwen, my betrothed." They smile pleasantly and greet her, asking "Are you from around here, dear?" "Oh, sorry, Mom, I forgot to mention that Morwen is the daughter of King Eomer of Rohan and niece of Elphir, Prince of Dol Amroth, and Faramir, Prince of Ithilien." Parents now must try to pick their jaws up off the floor…**_


End file.
